


A Kind of Stalwart Forward Movement

by mapleandmahogany



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For 2009 Popoffacork request "Canon AU where Brendon never joined Panic" – includes sexytimes, cliché confusion, meddling Pete Wentz, happy endings and Brendon levels of ridiculosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kind of Stalwart Forward Movement

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by queenb23more with lots of hand-holding and nudging from Quizzical and Reni_days.

~

Spencer counts off six resting beats before pinching the crisp ring of the cymbal into silence.

He's breathing hard, and the resounding buzz lingering in his inner ear and the vibration thrumming in his hands make him remember what it felt like to be onstage. Behind his closed eyes, he clings to the image of Ryan and Brent turning upstage to smile back him. The image is hard to hold though. It had now been longer since the band broke up than they had toured together, one year on the road with the band and three since that time, working with Pete.

He pulls out his earplugs, wipes his face, and takes a long drink of water. He can feel a pinching twinge in his left wrist and an ache across the back of his ribs. "Christ, you're out of shape, Smith," he grunts, stretching his arms side to side and doing windmills.

His phone buzzes an alert on the floor by his feet, two missed calls, both from Pete.

"Dude! Why aren't you here? Fucking _everyone_ is here," Pete shouts into his ear by way of greeting Spencer's return call.

"Where are _you_? It's only like," Spencer looks at his watch, "eight o'clock. Why are you there already?"

"Had dinner with the guys and then Bill and Sisky were saying I should see this kid who opens and - Spence, you got to meet him. I _called_ you, man, you didn't answer. You need to see this guy. We're gonna hook him up. He's the real deal."

Spencer shakes his head. Pete sees the 'real deal' every other month. Spencer had even been in the 'real deal' once and that didn't last either. Still, Pete's enthusiasm is impossible to ignore.

"Fine. But I have to shower first. I was drumming," Spencer tries to sound casual and move on. "They don't even go on until ten, right?"

"You were _drumming_? Dickhead! You never play when I ask."

Spencer rolls his eyes, switching the phone to his other shoulder. "That's because you always Twitpic me doing it!" He pauses, hearing the mesh of voices that he recognizes in the background, laughter and general muffled sounds that indicate Pete isn't paying attention anymore.

"Going now…" Spencer warns.

"Hang on!" Pete shouts just before Spencer disconnects. His voice is more direct now, like Pete's cupping his hand over his mouth.

"So, like, I need your gaydar with this guy."

"Fuck off," Spencer yawns, tapping a random, lazy pattern on his snare before getting up from his stool. "Your gaydar is just as good as mine."

"I know, right?" Pete laughs, probably because thinking of himself an Honorary Gay has never failed to please him. "But this guy, okay? He's hot. I don't even mean that in a 'from the waist up' way either. Like, even from the waist down, this dude is hot."

"Right. …But?"

"But, like, a dork?" Spencer nods in agreement with a half-shrug because most of their acquaintances are hot in a dorky way – this is nothing new. "The kid's totally green. Got no clue. I don't want to sexually harass him on accident."

"As opposed to when you sexually harass me on purpose?"

"Exactly!"

Spencer snorts.

There's loud laughter on the other end again and he can hear Pete talking to someone else.

"I'll get there when I get there!" Spencer shouts, on the off chance Pete is actually listening.

~

  
For all the protest he'd put up, he remembers why it's beneficial to arrive with Pete; he has to park a mile away in a sketchy neighborhood – no way he was going to trust valet parking – and then they don't have his name at the door.

"Come on, I know my name is on the list."

"Well. It's not." The woman won't even look at him and he wants to argue, but the menacing eye he's getting from the bouncer standing next to her keeps Spencer from being a dick about it.

People waiting in line at the door are giving him shitty looks for trying to cut ahead. "Bite my ass…" he mutters under his breath, turning away, but he keeps his head up and avoids eye contact, glancing at the marquee that reads _The Academy Is…_.

A cluster of paparazzi lurks just off the curb, circling in the street and off the property, like sharks. Spencer instinctively nods at one dude he recognizes – not a completely bad guy in spite of his profession – who returns an odd kind of salute with two fingers that hold his cigarette. He doesn't raise his camera though. The only time Spencer makes TMZ is when he's walking behind Pete and Ashlee out of a restaurant.

"Dre!" Spencer calls when he sees the bodyguard walk past the doorway. He stops and gives a hard look in Spencer's direction and Spencer actually waves like tool before he can stop himself but Dre just keeps going out of sight again.

"Oh, mother _fucker_ ," Spencer swears, refusing to look at the people working the door because he already knows they're laughing at him. Spencer pulls out his phone to call Pete – which he knows will earn him endless shit, but it's hot and humid and feels like it's gonna rain – when Dre steps outside, beckoning Spencer over with an upward jerk of his chin.

"Awesome." Spencer beams at him then and Dre's hardened expression breaks and he smiles back.

"Sorry, man," Dre says, holding up his fist to Spencer. "Had to get Pete secure before I could get you."

"That's okay. I appreciate it, dude," Spencer bumps his fist and grins. "I take back every bad thing I ever said about you."

He tries not to look too smug as he gets his hand stamp, hearing the groans and remarks from pissed off people waiting in line, but he doesn't feel too badly about it either.

"Spence!" Pete shouts at him. "Jeez, dude, it's taken you long enough!"

"I'm here exactly when I said I'd be," he replies, taking the plastic cup Pete offers him, promptly setting it aside on a table. He learned _that_ lesson years ago.

He exchanges hugs and handshakes and laughs off a few remarks about his beard with The Academy crew. They still remember him as being barely legal.

"Good to see you, man." Spencer shakes hands with Michael Guy. They've met before but he wasn't with TAI back when Panic! had toured with them.

One of the respectable things about Pete is that he doesn't dismiss lesser known bands or crew members. But this is also what makes Pete a pain in the ass because Spencer spends the next twenty minutes going around meeting a bunch people he has no hope of remembering.

There are far too many Mikes, Alexes, and Tonys for one thing.

"Okay, and this – shit! Get over here!" Pete pulls a thin guy away from the merch table. "He sells merch and fixes people's equipment. Unreal!" Then Pete looks over. "This is Brendon. I got that right, right? From Vegas?"

"Oh, really," Spencer offers, but at this point he's kind of over shaking hands so he keeps his hands in his pockets and nods. "Cool."

Brendon blinks at Pete with wide eyes and a startled grin and then back at Spencer. He recognizes the look of someone not fully comprehending his sudden proximity to Pete-Wentz-of-Fall-Out-Boy.

"Hey," he squeaks, looking from Pete over to Spencer for a moment and then does a double take. Spencer almost thinks he recognizes him.

"Uh, nice to meet you." Brendon flaps his hands helplessly like he'd extend a formal shake but he has two t-shirts, a couple twenties, and a sharpie gripped in his hands because Pete has literally pulled him away in the middle of a transaction. His hair is stuck to his sweaty forehead and Spencer is slightly impressed by the button up shirt he's wearing, rather than just a t-shirt.

Spencer feels his jaw tighten and the tug of an uneasy smirk that he fights to control because he gets the slow realization that Brendon is kinda hot.

"I really wish I could talk. Really! But maybe later? I hate to – really, sorry, but I should…" he indicates the line of distressed girls across the table, even while some shout hellos at Pete.

"It's all good, you go. Hard working man, I respect that. Hangs later, though!" Pete points at him and Brendon nods with a big smile.

Spencer sees it when Brendon looks back over his shoulder directly at him. He chews the inside of cheek and feigns focus in a conversation with another drummer.

Just before The Academy Is goes on, he watches them cheer each other and high five. It's a different ritual now than when Tom was with them, but all bands do some version of the same thing.

Bill's energy is infectious and watching Butcher from side stage like this brings on déjà vu. By the end, he's absorbed the buzz of the show, leaving him vaguely horny and with a desire to get his hands on a pair of sticks again.

Instead, the usual commences, with them crowding into booths and chairs near to the bar for an hour just bullshitting and watching the younger ones (and Pete) compete in gross-out chicken. When they've begun to clear off to finish the load out, Spencer notices Brendon sitting on the other end of the bench.

"Hey. Sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier?" Spencer says. He really had, but it's an easy opener.

"It's Brendon. Hi! You're Spencer Smith, right?" Brendon asks like he's not sure and then immediately closes his eyes and shakes his head at himself.

Spencer chuckles a little. "That I am. Busy night?"

"Incredibly. Sold a fuck load of t-shirts. I'm still getting used to all this."

"Yeah? First time on the road?"

Brendon nods with his lips pressed around the mouth of a Coors Light. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand when he's done.

"I've only done …six dates? Never toured like this before. It's kind of crazy fucked up – oh, but awesome! I'm not complaining."

"Right." Spencer scoots a little closer so he doesn't have to shout. "I remember it's tough though. Driving all night. Trying to sleep during the day. Living on Red Bull."

"Totally. You show up, sleep in a hot van, unload, wait for soundcheck. Oh, but thank god _this_ place has a shower! I'd gone five days without. _So_ gross. And there's–" he cuts himself off with laugh. "Sorry, don't know why I'm telling _you_ all this."

The intonation on the 'you' gives Spencer a ping of awareness that Brendon _knows_ him but maybe only because of Pete's introduction. Brendon's no doubt heard them all talking about 'old times'. "Well, it's been awhile. Can't say I miss sleeping in a van though. I like my bed too much."

Brendon looks like he's holding his breath and wants to say something. Spencer likes the way his eyes are kind of dark and the way he looks at Spencer with a nervous smile.

He realizes that Brendon's hair and shoulders are wet and that he's wearing a t-shirt now.

"Did it finally rain?" Spencer points as he asks and nearly brushes Brendon's shoulder before he stops himself.

The movement doesn't go unnoticed by Brendon, he can tell. "Yep. Got everything loaded up just in time." Brendon jerks his head a little shaking off a few drops of water. "I can't afford to have it get rained on. I like the rain though. It's fun!"

Spencer rarely finds rain fun, but whatever. "Rain in L.A. is weird. That whole ocean thing," Spencer says, remembering a moment too late that his sarcasm doesn't always translate. "Still not used to that."

"You like it though, right?" Brendon asks. "Living here? Near the ocean? Shane's cousin just moved here and we're moving in with him after tour."

"Cool. Welcome to Lalaland, then."

Brendon giggles. "Thanks! It's gonna be awesome. I'm going to surf – do you surf?"

"Not so much. No."

"No? But it's so fun! I mean, I've only surfed in Hawaii, my family went on vacation there once, but you _live_ here! The ocean's right _there_ -" He points.

"-Actually, the ocean's back there." Spencer points his thumb over his shoulder.

"-And Disneyland is just over _there_ ," Brendon continues.

Spencer grabs Brendon's wrist and rotates his arm forty-five degrees. "There." The bones under his fingers feel delicate and Brendon makes no move to shake him off, but Spencer releases him after a beat.

"Do you like Disneyland?" Brendon asks.

"It's okay. I prefer Knotts Berry. Better rides. But I don't really go to parks very often. Nobody to go with."

Brendon gasps. "I would totally go all the time."

There's an awkward and implied follow up for them to go together that lingers unmentioned between them for a moment when Pete loudly interrupts.

"Fuck yeah." Pete grins down at them. "So you guys have met? Wait, I introduced you, right? Dude," he turns to Brendon, "trust this guy. Spence Wentz knows his shit."

"That is _not_ my name."

"Can't deny family, brotha!"

Brendon giggles which seems to satisfy Pete so he's off again, surrounded by a cluster of people before Spencer can even ask Pete who it was he actually wanted Spencer to meet. He's met three bands and all their crew tonight and he can barely remember any of them, especially with Brendon in front of him. He probably ought to go mingle and make some contacts but he doesn't want to work.

He wants to stay right where he is.

"Wow." Brendon's wide-eyed after Pete for a moment and then gives Spencer the same look. "This night has been unreal. I think he like, likes me?"

"I get that impression, yeah," Spencer agrees, but then Pete likes most everyone.

"I think, he said he wants to, I don't know, give me a job or something? I can't even think about that right now. Crazy shit."

Spencer chuckles. He's seen Pete help lots of people find their way in the business so it wouldn't surprise him.

"Hey so, this'll sound … okay. I um, I kinda knew Brent Wilson in high school."

Out of everything Spencer might have guessed Brendon would say, it wasn't that.

"Seriously? You went to Palo Verde?"

"Yeah. I mean, we weren't _friends_ friends. Sort of, like, we had some classes together. God, that seems so long time ago."

"It really fucking does, yeah."

"Sorry. I wasn't gonna say anything." Brendon waves a hand in apology. He seems to move a lot. "That's probably weird, huh?"

"Nah. It's okay. Brent…" Spencer uses both hands to idly rotate his plastic cup, sloshing the last of his warm beer. The mention of Brent recalls some of the best and worst moments in his life and it takes a second to file them. When he looks up, Brendon is watching his hands move. He glances up at Spencer then, too, his face open, waiting for Spencer to continue. "I haven't actually talked to him in a few years."

"Right. Since after the, um, break up?" Brendon pauses and bites his lip and then looks up at Spencer without raising his head completely and grins like he's about to tell a secret. Spencer is pretty charmed. "Okay, so I was in the same class as you guys, right? '05. Brent said you guys got signed and then he quit school and after that everyone knew Panic! At the Disco was a hometown band. It was cool. I kept track of you guys." Brendon flicks Spencer's arm with the back of knuckles. "I was a fan. Not ashamed to admit it."

Spencer chuckles a little. He's so often creeped out when people talk about the band, talk about them as if they _knew_ them, but Brendon really did. He could be lying for all Spencer knows, but he doesn't really think so.

"Thanks. It really was cool. For a while, it was. Then it got to be too much. So much attention, the money, a lot of shit. And we were just kids, you know?"

"Yeah? I don't know, I was so fucking jealous though. But – like, in an inspired way? I didn't hate you guys because you'd made it or whatever. Fuck Brandon Flowers, right?" Spencer laughs at that and Brendon continues. "You were out of school and on the road. You and Ryan Ross still best friends?"

"Hmm," Spencer hedges. "Ryan and I have been friends since we were kids. That'll always be..." He doesn't know what to call it when you share a childhood with someone who isn't family.

Brendon nods. "Yeah, no, I get that. Sure."

Spencer takes a drink, forgetting that it's warm and sets it down, spinning the cup a few more times. He glances at Brendon, who's looking at him with attentive eyes. Spencer rarely discusses the band break up, let alone with a stranger. But this stranger is looking very pretty and he's looking at Spencer like he hasn't been looked at in a long time and he's got the high of the show still running like static through his skin. It makes Spencer want to remember what it felt like to be a rock star – the good parts, not the bad.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked…" Brendon looks down, looking a little sad.

"No we're all good now. Brent was just done, and by the time Ryan's dad died, we'd met Jon. He and Ryan were already playing on that last tour and, you know, I don't know…" Spencer could feel himself slipping into that stalling speech pattern he tried to avoid. "Something was missing for me. My heart wasn't in it anymore. But Pete, fucking Pete." They both looked near the backstage door where he was standing. "He wouldn't let me go back to Vegas, and here I am."

Spencer looks at Brendon's face. "Meeting new people all the time."

Feeling bolder now, the more time he's spent with Brendon, he pointedly looks at his mouth, his hair, lingering at his neck and then slowly raising his gaze back up to Brendon's eyes. And Brendon, for all his nervous giggling and constant motion, is doing the same. Raising just the corner of his mouth in a smirk of approval after Spencer checks him out. Brendon actually scoots just a little bit closer.

Definitely on the same page then – no doubt.

Brendon has his cheek resting on his fist, fairly beaming at Spencer. "I could listen to you all night."

Spencer can feel his face heat up. "How long you got?" he asks, chancing the flirt.

Brendon grins at first before it crumples into a frown. "Oh, shit. Not very long, actually. We hit the road at two?"

Spencer checks his phone, which shows nearly twelve-thirty. "That's not very long."

Brendon's kind of relaxed, his limbs all loose, but he has a tight set in his jaw. Still playing up a little, Spencer thinks, and he doesn't really have to, he's in.

"You're right. That's not much time left." Spencer tries to remember just how nasty the bathroom stalls are in this place. Then the realization of what he's contemplating startles him and he sits up trying to adjust the way he's situated in his pants without drawing attention to his crotch.

"So, uh," Brendon starts and it's the first time he's sounded nervous all night. "This'll be really embarrassing if I'm wrong but do you-?"

"-You're not wrong," Spencer tells him.

"Really? So you want to, like…?"

"Yeah."

Brendon's whole body quivers then, tension easing as he wiggles in his seat and scratches through his hair, giggling a little to himself. "I love California."

Spencer laughs at that and looks around trying figure out where they can go.

"Maybe sneak out?" Brendon suggests, sliding out of the booth. ""I might get put to work if I get spotted leaving, but my van's parallel parked down the street."

"That works," Spencer agrees, wondering how guilty he should feel. He'd be surprised if Brendon doesn't get his ass chewed for ducking out to get laid. The standard punishment, as Spencer recalls, is buying beer for everyone. Then he remembers how much money crew makes on small tours and amends the thought; not beer then, _doughnuts_.

"Hey, where you going?" a high voice asks behind them just before they make the door. Brendon nearly jumps out of his skin and rounds on the guy.

"Who? Us?" Spencer rubs a hand over his face not to laugh. Brendon's not very slick but the guy with a knit cap and camera looks none the wiser. "We're just going outside. Out _side_."

"What? Ooh! Are you gonna smoke up?" he asks, like he wants to come.

"No. _No_. Ugh, this is Shane," Brendon grumbles. It's not really an introduction so they don't say hello, which makes it more awkward. "Just, like, don't come to van for a little while," Brendon says.

"Why?" he looks from Brendon to Spencer to Brendon again when his eyes get bigger and he laughs. "Oh! Um, okay. … For _real_?"

Spencer can feel himself blushing.

"Just don't. Say. A word." Brendon's threat sounds more like a plea.

Shane snorts. "Right. Have you met me? Aren't you going to introduce me, first?"

" _No_. Go away, Shane."

"Fine – don't get the van gross."

"Oh, my god, shut up!" Brendon sounds mortified, but Shane's giggling and Spencer can barely keep himself from doing the same.

"Hey, is that the guy from-?"

"-No!" Brendon claps his hands over Shane's mouth. "It's not. Why are you still talking?"

Spencer keeps his eyes trained vaguely out the doorway, trying to look disinterested, and Brendon hisses various warnings under his breath. Shane concedes and he is clearly a good friend because Spencer can see that Brendon is going to suffer for this.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Brendon mutters as they cross the street.

Spencer glances at Brendon walking a few feet away, the rush of anticipation already making his cock warm and swell. Brendon catches the glance and looks down, chuckling as he shakes his head.

Brendon's got an old Ford Aerostar that's faded with oxidation and the inside shows the usual state of tour chaos; fast food trash and dirty clothes litter the floor while the back is full of merch boxes and equipment.

"Can't believe you're not on a bus. What a bunch of assholes," Spencer jokes, absently reaching to finger the still damp towel hanging from the handhold that smells like Brendon's hair. He'd completely forgotten about the sanctity of The Clean Towel kept for showering on tour.

"Ha! Nope. Haven't earned quite enough to be on a bus, yet. Me and Shane take turns driving, though. It's not too bad."

Brendon shoves a couple backpacks into the front seat, his ass hovering right in front of Spencer's face as he moves around and then steps down backwards onto the pavement again. Spencer moves in then, crowding close to Brendon's back but not touching him. He noses behind Brendon's ear, into his hair and rests his finger lightly at his waist. Brendon freezes for second before letting his head fall back, pressing into Spencer's touch. He holds him more securely then, squeezing.

"Let's …" Brendon says in low voice, turning in Spencer's arms. "Get inside where no one can see." His mouth is only a breath away from Spencer's but he climbs backwards into the van, pulling Spencer by the front of his shirt. Trash crumples under their feet and it smells of French fries and socks when Brendon slides the door shut. He presses the lock on his key remote and drops it on the seat.

The space between them feels too wide and awkward, and Brendon leans down in starts and stops like he thinks Spencer still might change his mind.

"Hey, c'mere," he says, putting a hand on the back of Brendon's neck and pulls him gently closer.

The moment he feels Brendon's lips, Spencer has to think how long it's been since he's kissed. Since he remembers kissing being quite like this; sure but not too aggressive.

"You know what," Brendon says, crawling over close enough to straddle Spencer's lap and rubbing his upper lip. "I've never kissed anyone with a beard."

Spencer strokes a circle around his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. "Now I think of it, I haven't either. S'it okay?"

Brendon cups Spencer's jaw with both hands, putting on a serious appraising expression. Spencer lets him turn his face from side to side and then Brendon curls his fingers to stroke along his jaw and leans in close. "I like it."

Spencer tips his chin up and keeps his eyes open as Brendon leans close enough to kiss him again. He's not ordinarily fond of kissing someone he doesn't really know, but he really likes the way Brendon moves his mouth and how he tastes of beer. He likes how Brendon runs his hands slowly and deliberately down his neck and over his chest.

Brendon presses both palms to Spencer's nipples making him gasp into Brendon's mouth. "Spencer?"

"Mm?"

Brendon rocks forward into Spencer's a chest a little, reaching for Spencer's wrists and repositions his hands onto his ass. "Not a lot of time, remember?"

Spencer makes a cognitive effort to remember that he doesn't need to be a gentleman here. He doesn't stop kissing Brendon when he begins to open Spencer's jeans. He shifts up a little and Brendon leans his head against his shoulder to use both hands to push them down to his thighs.

It feels both perverse and exciting to be exposed like this while he's got the rest of his clothes on, while there's some risk of being caught.

Spencer's hand goes automatically to his cock and Brendon bites his bottom lip when he looks down and kneels up to get his own jeans undone enough to push them half way down.

"Um," Brendon makes a contemplative sound. He and Spencer both look down as he palms his dick. "On the road like this, haven't trimmed, sorry." Brendon's sincerity is adorable if not necessary.

"Are you kidding? I can't be bothered to shave my _face_ ," he says, shifting his hand from his own cock to Brendon's. It's too dark to see much but he still looks, considering the weight and heat of it in his hand. He gives an easy squeeze and then strokes it slowly a few times until Brendon puts his hand over top of his and squeezes harder.

"Yeah," he says, giving Spencer a reassuring smile before closing his eyes, guiding him through a few more firm, quick pulls before leaving it to Spencer to figure out. "Yeah…"

Brendon's pretty easy as far as handjobs go, responding best to firm and fast. He's so responsive that Spencer can't help but wonder what he'd look like, how his little short gasps of breath would sound if Spencer had time to use his mouth.

Brendon pulls his t-shirt up, exposing his stomach, and then braces both hands on Spencer's shoulders, bowing his head a little.

Rainwater is still beaded over the windows and they begin to fog up quickly. The negligible privacy doesn't keep out the sounds of traffic at the end of the street or of people wandering out of the venue. Brendon's breathing fast and shallow, and he raises his head when voices are heard passing them on the other side of the street. Spencer keeps stroking him, concentrating on Brendon's reaction, and when he looks into Spencer's eyes again, he sees the moment when they go glassy and unfocused before they close and he lets out of a low, quiet groan as he spills over Spencer's fist.

"Fuck," Brendon groans, collapsing onto Spencer a little more. Spencer keeps a gentle grip on his cock and rubs a slow circle over the side of Brendon's ass with his other hand, giving him a moment to collect himself. "L.A. is definitely my favorite city," Brendon whispers, reaching blindly for the towel and tugs it down, using one end to wipe off Spencer's hand.

It's too quiet inside and too loud outside to be doing this. They're too dressed and too hot and the casual, silent agreement of 'I'll do you, you do me' makes Spencer uncomfortable but not so much to keep his head from falling back when Brendon takes his dick into his hand. Brendon responds well when Spencer hisses and he lets Spencer's cock slide through his grip, milking over the tip before slipping down the shaft again.

"Like that," Spencer tells him and opens his eyes just enough to look down at Brendon's face, his cheek resting on Spencer's shoulder. He's struck by how attractive he finds Brendon's mouth, how he wants to kiss him again and to slide the head of his cock over that bottom lip.

That thought repeats in his mind as Brendon jerks him off and when it finally makes him come, Brendon raises his head so that his moan is muffled by a kiss. He didn't want to hope for more kissing from someone who is supposed to be no more than a hook up but the kissing is nearly as satisfying as the orgasm, and he's glad Brendon isn't shy about it either. Headlights refract in the rainwater and the moving light is disorienting for a moment as he catches his breath and he thinks this is one of those moments he'll never forget.

"It's the clean end, I swear," Brendon says, chuckling a little as he wipes off his hand and Spencer's stomach.

"Thanks. It's not your friend's towel, is it? I think he's already pissed."

"Shane? Ha! He never gets pissed. Besides, he hides his towels from me."

Spencer laughs and then they both suddenly freeze when a couple of girls walk right past the van, oblivious of their presence. Brendon looks from the hazy window back to Spencer and he realizes that he's clutched Brendon to him, both hands over his exposed ass as if to shield him from view somehow.

"You're actually a nice guy aren't you, Spencer Smith?" Brendon states it like a fact more than a question and before he has the chance to blush, Brendon darts down to kiss him once more before scrambling off of him and they take a minute to tuck themselves back in.

"Um, I am," he finally says when Brendon is sitting next to him, humming something that might be _Roxanne_. "I try to be, anyway."

Brendon studies him for a second and then burrows close to his arm. "Hey, so," is all he gets out before they're interrupted again.

"Bren, c'mon, man," Shane says outside the door, his back to the window. "People are starting to take off and we gotta gas up still."

Brendon sighs and then whispers, "'m sorry."

"No, don't … it's the life, right?"

"Seriously," Shane goads again. "I _know_ it doesn't take you that long."

"Oh, fuck you!" Brendon shouts back, but his tone is obviously playful as he pulls the door open. "You're supposed to back my play, homie!"

"Back your play? Wait, are we using football or baseball metaphors for your sex life?"

"Okay, you? Are officially fired as my assistant."

"Fine. I want my van back."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The straight-faced exchange between them is only broken when Brendon pokes out his bottom lip and flutters wide eyes at him.

"That doesn't work on me. I don't think you're cute."

"Yes, you do." Brendon shoves at Shane's arm. "I put all your shit up front, by the way."

"Thank you," Shane says sincerely and then mumbles, "for not jizzing on my stuff," as he opens the front door. He glances at Spencer as he climbs out of the van and Spencer tries to avoid eye contact and look casual at the same time but doesn't think it works.

"Right, so…" Brendon turns to face Spencer as Shane tries to look busy with his backpack in the front seat. He moves closer to Spencer but doesn't quite touch him and lowers his voice. "I'll be back in L.A. in about a week. Maybe I could see you again?"

"Really? Oh. Oh, um." Spencer shifts on his feet and smoothes his hair because he hadn't expected that. He purposefully kept himself from thinking of this as anything but a one-time thing because he really likes Brendon and it sucks to think he'll never see him again.

His momentary pause is just long enough to make Brendon tense and step back. He shakes his head and puts on this 'I'm a dork and it's okay to laugh at me' kind of face. "Shit, no. You didn't -you weren't looking for. Sorry."

"Wait! That's not." He can see Shane's pissed off expression out of his peripheral vision over Brendon's shoulder.

"No, I get it. My bad."

"I wasn't," Spencer tries not to look pissed off because he reverts to that when he's frustrated and embarrassed. "I just didn't think _you_ wanted to see _me_ again." He sneaks a quick look at Shane who genuinely appears not to be listening, which he appreciates. "That's all. You …want my number?"

Brendon's uncertain expression eases into a smile and he looks down. It's stupid, but Spencer feels a punch of affection in his gut more at that smile than he did with their cocks hanging out only a few minutes earlier.

"Yes! Um, let me find my phone." Brendon dives back into the open door of the van. Shane glances at Spencer and acknowledges him with a friendly enough nod, but he can still detect a hint 'I will kill you' in the look.

He puts his own number into Brendon's phone and ignores his own when it chimes with a text message. He assumes it's Pete and refuses to look at it.

"I should head back," Brendon says, jerking his head towards the crowd gathered outside the stage door down the alley. "You coming back in?"

"I actually don't want to deal with," with _Pete_ , "with anyone else tonight. I'm gonna book."

Spencer can't help that he gazes at Brendon's mouth again. One more kiss would feel so good but neither wants to risk being seen by their friends.

"I'm glad I met you tonight. It was good … talking."

Spencer kind of expected Shane to make a derisive noise, he probably would have himself, but Shane resolutely keeps his back to them, pretending not to hear.

"Yeah, you, too. I hope the rest of the tour goes okay for you."

"Thanks." Brendon shoves both hands into his pockets and his shoulders are up near his ears and Spencer can tell he feels just as frustrated.

"Okay. I'll see you then…"

"Okay. Laters."

Spencer goes the opposite way down the alley, adding an extra block to the trek to his car, but he doesn't want to risk running into Pete or any of the guys. He can already hear the shit talk he'll get for screwing a roadie.

~

  
Spencer appreciates that he's more or less self-employed because he can sleep off a late night, spend half his workday in his underwear on the Internet, and not roll into FBR's L.A. office until the afternoon.

It doesn't keep him from running into Pete, who never needs the benefit of sleeping off a late night.

"Dude!" Pete pounces before he's made it to his desk. "You totally-"

"-No! I will not, under any circumstances, be discussing the events of last night, or anyone I may, or may not, have met." He gives his pointiest eyebrow at Pete, who is usually completely unaffected by it, but for some reason he smirks and gives in. Spencer will never not respect Patrick for the early years that he put up with.

Thankfully, there are enough people in the office who want to talk to Pete, which outweighs Pete's desire to torment Spencer.

A couple hours into clearing out his inbox, he gets a text that reads _'help! i cant tell where i am. its dark in here and i can hear someone laughing' -i luv these things!_

Spencer stares at it for a minute, perplexed, before he remembers the line as printed on Taco Bell hot sauce packets and then another text comes in; _this is bden btw. hi!_

Spencer takes a second to reconcile 'bden' with 'Brendon' and barely keeps himself from collapsing onto his elbows on his desk with an undignified noise as he beams at his phone. After looking around to make sure he's gone unnoticed, he keys in _'at night the sporks pick on me' TB for dinner eh?_

A few minutes later he gets _glamorus life of rocknroll baby!_

Spencer watches the clock and waits a full half hour, just so as not to look too eager, before replying _sell lots of tshirts 2nite and maybe u can afford jack in the crack tomorrow_.

After seeing it in text, he wonders for a second if anyone besides him and Ryan used that expression for Jack in the Box before he gets the reply, _about to earn that bacon ultimate cheeseburger now. wish me luck!_

 _luck!_ he thumbs in and then he packs his laptop, grabs the rest of his FBR request memos, and leaves before Pete can corner him.

His week keeps him busy enough because Pete gets into a Twitter war with Perez Hilton, and one of their baby bands gets into a wreck on the Interstate, and another shoots a video in L.A., but all the while, he gets random texts from Brendon. Some are obscure lyrics, everything from Sublime to Regina Spektor or lines from Saturday Night Live and Family Guy. Spencer sometimes wonders if he's being tested for compatibility, like Brendon is trying to throw him off, but he thinks they're like riddles and every new piece makes him more interested.

Spencer is just about to fall asleep when his phone lights up. He blearily presses view to read the latest.

 _shanes driving. its raining. smells like that nite w/ u. never alone_

Spencer closes his eyes and inhales, subconsciously trying to remember the smell. Mostly, he remembers how stifling and sour the van was, but there are details too, and this is the first time either of them have acknowledged that they've jerked each other off.

He imagines Brendon in the dark van, curled over his phone, tired, lonely and probably with a hard-on he can't jack off. Spencer remembers that, and he doesn't miss it at all. He slides his hand into his underwear, adjusting and rubbing his cock as it's begun to swell.

He backspaces a few times before settling on _was a good nite. maybe next venue will have shower for u?_

It's stepping things up a notch maybe, but playing it safe, too.

 _can i think of u if it does?_ Brendon replies.

Spencer grins, turning to smoosh his face into his pillow, amazed at how smug and embarrassed he can feel when he's all alone in his own bedroom. He props himself on his elbow and scratches his beard before texting _think of seeing me again in 3 days?_

 _4 days :( cant wait. gnite_

 _nite_

Spencer can't wait either. He flops around long enough to shove off his blankets and underwear.

~

Spencer goes into the garage and sits at his kit. He twirls a stick in his right hand and absently taps out a two bar pattern, not too loudly, because he wants to hear when Brendon pulls up. He doesn't really want to be drumming and chance looking like he's trying to remind Brendon of 'who he is' or some douchetastic move like that.

When he hears the van in the driveway, he actually rushes to the front door without any regard to his dignity.

"You know," Brendon says as he enters, a backpack over his shoulder, "I didn't make a single wrong turn the whole way until that left on –"

Spencer cuts him off with a kiss, putting a hand on the back of Brendon's neck. He realizes it might be too forward, too possessive, so he lets his hand slide down to Brendon's arm instead.

"Sorry," he says between kisses. "I didn't want to stand around, kicking the dirt over not knowing if this was okay."

"No," Brendon murmurs against Spencer's mouth. "Was a good call."

While he's had a thrum of anticipatory arousal running through him all day, it's the way Brendon folds into his chest and tips his head up to kiss him that makes him hard.

Spencer puts his arms around him and pulls him close.

"Mmgh!" Brendon grumbles an unhappy little sound. "You know what, I really, _really_ need a shower. You mind?"

"Shower after," Spencer protests, fingers slipping under Brendon's t-shirt to the hot skin of his lower back underneath. He really wants so much more naked to be happening.

Brendon squeezes at his waist and then pushes away slightly.

"For real, though. Shower? Trust me." He makes an impressive argument with his eyebrows.

Spencer reaches for Brendon's face and he tilts his cheek into Spencer's cupped hand. He's got more freckles than Spencer remembers and a day's dark growth along his jaw.

"Totally. Course you can." Spencer sighs as he steps back. "Um, clean towels are on the shelf thing."

"I'll go fast!" Brendon whispers, pressing another kiss to his mouth before re-shouldering his backpack. Spencer's house is small and there's only one bathroom so he doesn't offer directions as he goes.

"Want a drink? Beer?"

"Fuck, yeah, please?"

Spencer chuckles to himself as he goes into the kitchen. He meanders a bit, buying time, and when he returns to the bedroom with two bottles in hand the shower is already off.

"What are you looking at?" Brendon asks, coming up behind him and pressing his mouth to the curve of Spencer's shoulder and neck, just above his t-shirt collar.

Spencer closes his eyes as leans back into Brendon; his hair is wet and cold against his skin and Spencer can feel that he's naked.

"Um, hy-hydrangeas?" Spencer swallows and nods out the window at the neighbor's house lined with the giant lavender blooms.

"Pretty."

Spencer opens his eyes and looks sideways at Brendon, who is looking out the window with a true smile on his face. Spencer watches him for a moment, surprised at how much it thrills him that Brendon will share his appreciation of nature, the simple beauty of it. Too many people he meets through the industry are only interested in the neon lights and bling that the city has to offer.

Brendon turns to face Spencer then, a slight smile playing the corner of his mouth. He tilts his head and moves towards the bed with a faint tug at his t-shirt. Spencer stares openly, Brendon is slight but muscular and honestly breathtaking and he's not shy when he puts one knee up on the bed and lets Spencer look.

"This is so much better than in your van," Spencer tells him, admiring the flex of his thigh and the side of his ass.

Brendon chuckles and scratches at his stomach and then slides his hand down to his dick, squeezing it downward, getting hard in his hand. "Come over here, you."

Spencer's already barefoot and he unbuttons his jeans and then hesitates a little with Brendon watching. He's completely open about being naked himself but Spencer is usually a little more drunk or hidden by darkness by the time he gets to skin. He pulls off his shirt and glances at Brendon quickly before shoving at his jeans and briefs. Brendon doesn't condescend to even look approving; he just grins, holds out his hand and then pulls Spencer down onto the bed with him.

"Goddamn. Seriously. Oh, fuck," Brendon mutters between kisses, not like he's talking _to_ Spencer, just thinking and feeling out loud. While Spencer enjoys every kiss against his mouth and stroke over his cock, he really appreciates that Brendon doesn't forget the rest of his body either, nibbling over his collarbone and squeezing the back of Spencer's thigh as he grinds against him.

He slows down their writhing long enough to really kiss Brendon, moving his tongue gently over Brendon's. He spends so long losing himself in kissing that the next time he opens his eyes, he sees that the sunset has sent the room into a dull pink haze. Spencer rolls them over again and doesn't prohibit himself from tasting the rest of Brendon's skin. He licks a stripe over Brendon's nipple, above his navel, and over his hip and then he mouths Brendon's cock slick and wet before sucking him in. Brendon groans and curls one foot around Spencer's ribcage, wriggling as Spencer goes down on him. He goes slow, adjusting to having a cock in his mouth. He can't deep throat but does put his tongue to its best advantage.

"Jesus… so _good_ , ugh-ughh."

Spencer has to pull off because Brendon's continuous babble sets him off giggling which tries to muffle into Brendon's thigh.

"Sorry." Brendon sounds sheepish, like he knows it's his fault. "You're just really good. Oh, my god, so-so good."

Spencer kisses the inside of his leg, tasting the bitter of pre-come on the back of tongue, and pushes up to lay on top of Brendon again, hoping that he's not way off base when he says, "so, I'm, we haven't said, but…"

Brendon raises his eyebrows, running his fingers through Spencer's hair where it's hanging down over his eyes. "Hm?"

"Can? Um, I want, wanna fuck you. If that's... Is that okay?"

Brendon gets a slight crease between his eyebrows, looking like he kind of expected the question but still isn't sure what his answer is. He doesn't look Spencer in the eyes as he scratches the back of his neck and he half-shrugs a tense shoulder.

"Hey, no, it's okay," Spencer says quickly, annoyed at himself for letting his dick talk for him. "I get it." It's too soon, they're still strangers really, Spencer doesn't blame him. It is a big deal.

"No, it's … I just don't do that much."

"Yeah, it's fine. I shouldn't've-"

"It's okay," Brendon says, clutching at Spencer and looking apologetic. "Don't worry about it," he says through a kiss. "Do you have, like, lotion or something?"

It's been a long time since Spencer kept Jergens next to his bed and he huffs a little laugh as he pulls open the drawer that reveals a variety of lubes.

Brendon gapes and laughs. "Holy shit, Spencer Smith, you're a fucking Boy Scout, aren't you?"

"I … you know. Just." Spencer tries not to blush as he goes for his favorite bottle. He's not great at talking during sex as it is, but the fact that he really likes Brendon almost makes it worse somehow. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing or sound like a prick but he doesn't want to try to pretend he's something he's not. He's done enough of that in his life already.

Spencer wraps his now slick hand around Brendon's cock and he's not shy about sounding his approval. Brendon takes the bottle, spreads some lube between his fingers and thumb, and plants his heels on the bed on either side of Spencer's knees. He watches with an increasing ache in his cock and bites his lip when Brendon slides a finger inside.

"Brendon, seriously…" Spencer's voice is rough and he wishes to fuck he could turn off his conscience. "It's okay if you don't want that."

Brendon opens his eyes and smirks, looking both gorgeous and duplicitously innocent at the same time. "And _that_ is exactly why I want to. You gonna quit thinking so much and fuck me already?"

Nodding, Spencer reaches for a condom and he tries to be so careful and go so slowly when very shortly later he pushes inside. "God, god. Oh, god," he groans over Brendon's hiss and a week's worth of fantasies finally come true. Only his daydreams never included the smell of body heat and latex. Fantasies don't capture the flinch across Brendon's face that he tries to conceal. He never remembers how hot it is inside someone else's body and how much he hopes to make it good for the person giving themselves like this.

Brendon curls his arms around Spencer's shoulders and pulls down. He collapses to his elbows, close enough to kiss Brendon when he reaches up for it, close enough to feel the back of Brendon's thighs along his sides.

"'kay. Truth?" Brendon says, breathless and perspiring.

Spencer tries really hard to stay still, digging his toes into the bed. "Always."

"You? Are so much better than my fantasy."

Spencer chokes out a surprised laugh. "I… Really?" It's not that Spencer doesn't remember having such things shouted at him from the venue to the bus or reading comments on the internet that he really wasn't ever meant to see, but coming from the guy he's been having jerk off fantasies to for over a week is a lot more satisfying.

"Yes, _really_. Fuck, I never expected to meet you, let alone end up in your bed. _Unghh_ ," he whimpers when Spencer finally can't help himself anymore and he grinds down, pressing in deep.

"I'm not that guy, anymore," Spencer says, pressing his nose to Brendon's temple, not sure if the statement is defense or apology.

"No, no, I don't want you to be." Brendon snakes his hands up to Spencer's face, brushing his hair aside and running his fingers behind his ears. "But I do wanna know _you_ better."

It's sincere and sweet and just ridiculous enough, considering their current position, that they both laugh quietly together, sealing the moment with kisses that are half smiling teeth.

~

Spencer wakes up and before he even opens his eyes, he can tell that he doesn't have time to linger in bed. He never shut the curtains the night before so sunlight is streaming in around the blinds. He has a conference call with the New York office at 9am, otherwise he'd roll over and enjoy the fact that he's still got a gorgeous guy in his bed. He cracks open his eyes at the thought and sees Brendon lying next to him, still naked and twisted onto his side. The bed smells like sex and Spencer inhales, wanting more than anything to curve around Brendon's back and bury his nose in his hair.

He thinks of last night, after, coming back into the room with drinks to find Brendon staring up at the ceiling, looking tense, barely giving Spencer a shallow smile.

Spencer set the drinks down and moved close to him on the bed. He got right up to Brendon's side, not quite sure if it was cool to assume an intimacy that wasn't foreplay-related. Ducking his head, Spencer slid his hand over Brendon's stomach and curled his fingers over Brendon's hip. "Okay?" he asked and Brendon gave him a quizzical glance before smirking and nodded his head. Anything Spencer could think of to say sounded lame or too personal. He felt guilty that Brendon might be getting caught up in his head over what they'd just done. Not for the first time, Spencer considered the idea that maybe getting to know Brendon a little better before fucking would have been a good plan.

"Glad you came over. Can you stay? The night?" he asked Brendon's shoulder.

"Yeah? You sure?"

"Definitely." And just like that, the weird vibe ebbed away. Brendon was tired from his drive back to L.A. and fell asleep while Spencer turned on the TV and watched South Park reruns. He kept an arm over Brendon the whole night.

Spencer lies in bed a little longer, enjoying the sight of Brendon's ass and the curve of his shoulder blades and he nearly reaches out to touch Brendon's hand when he stops himself. He slides out of bed with more than a little reluctance and gets coffee started before getting into the shower. He tries to be quiet so that Brendon can sleep and never seriously considers waking him up to kick him out of the house. He's never left casual acquaintances alone in his house before but even if he didn't trust Brendon, which his gut instinct tells him to, he doesn't think Brendon would risk the damage to his professional reputation.

"Hey," Brendon grumbles as Spencer's tying his shoes. He's pushing up onto his hands, arching his back with half-shut eyes like a stretching cat, and, well, there's no way Spencer's not moving towards that.

"Morning," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding a hand over Brendon's hip and resting it on the upper curve of his ass. "You don't have to get up. Stay. There's coffee and whatever else you can find, but I have to go to work."

Brendon settles after stretching and looks up at Spencer with a sleep-worn look and reaches for him, pulling Spencer down to him and, well, Spencer really can't resist that either. He's glad to find that kissing is still apparently okay to Brendon, because so often that is against the unspoken rules of The Morning After. He twists just enough so that his chest lies over Brendon and it would take so little effort to get naked again and Brendon is making it really easy.

"You know, most of the time I can fuck off whenever I need to because I work with Pete Wentz," Spencer pulls away just enough to talk against Brendon's jaw, "but today, I really can't."

"Nng" is Brendon's approximate response, hands still pawing along Spencer's ribcage until they freeze. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Eight. Um, five after."

"Shit. Okay. I have to go, too."

And just like that, they're on their feet and Brendon heads for the bathroom, pushing the door half shut to piss and brush his teeth while Spencer finishes getting ready.

"Hey, um," Brendon peeks out of the bathroom. "My shirt from yesterday kinda stinks. Could I maybe?" he asks, standing there in yesterday's still unbuttoned jeans and nothing else.

Spencer waves in the direction of his closet while slurping his coffee and Brendon pulls out an old t-shirt that he never wears anymore, asking with a "yeah?" as he holds up it.

It's one Spencer wore on Panic!'s last tour, but he hasn't worn it since. He won't miss it if he never sees it again.

"I have a meeting this morning too," Brendon says, shrugging into the tee. "Or a job interview type thing? Not sure how this works. I'm just hoping to get another tour. Get myself out there, you know?"

"Right. Good plan."

"I just don't know how to talk to those people. Business people. I'm so awkward. I talk too much."

"Fuck that. People in the offices, all of them, they're full of shit. Tell them you can do anything and everything. You can just fake it later if you have to."

"Is that your professional advice? To lie?" Brendon seems amused.

"Hell yeah. You lie and I'll swear by it. That's what … that's what I always say." Actually, that's what he _and Ryan_ always used to say.

Brendon shoulders his backpack and grips the strap with both hands, his smile fading again.

"Hey, so," Spencer starts, hoping he sounds more casual than aloof. "If you don't head out on the road right away, you could call."

"Yeah? Okay. And if I could manage not to leave town or fall asleep immediately after, that would awesome!" Brendon gives him a self-mocking two thumbs up with a grin.

Spencer laughs and sets down his coffee as Brendon draws close enough to run a hand up the back of Spencer's neck, into his hair, and pulls just a little, asking with his eyes. Spencer answers by sliding a hand around Brendon's waist and kisses him. It's open, just dirty enough not to be chaste, and very slow. A goodbye to whatever this has been.

Spencer loves music but he sometimes hates how the business of it keeps people apart.

~

When Spencer returns to the office from a late lunch, Jensen is hanging up the phone, rubbing away a smirk with the back of his hand. "Yeah, so… that was Pete," he says cautiously.

Spencer huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He already knows. "Ugh. God. What?"

"He's bringing the new guy and says he's picking you up and that if you try to duck out, you're fired."

That makes Spencer actually scoff. "Oh, good. I know he's really serious, then."

He really doesn't plan to duck out anyway. There's got to be a statute of limitations on tormenting him for hooking up with a roadie after a show, and besides, he thinks, Pete has no way of knowing that Brendon stayed over last night as well.

More than that, he always has some sympathy for new bands getting signed. He remembers sitting in Del Taco and having a mild crisis of reality and trying to remember all the questions his dad told him to ask but can't think of. Spencer's good at helping new bands with that sort of thing.

What makes Pete's latest find so unique is that he's a solo artist and not a band. It's not Pete's usual style, and Spencer wonders how overwhelming it must be for one person to decide everything without having a band to weigh in. Just as Spencer remembers to ask what the guy's name is, Jensen's phone rings and he forgets.

He knows when Pete arrives because people mob him, even a roomful of friends and co-workers. Spencer sits quietly and finishes updating a band MySpace he's working on. He takes a deep breath and adopts his 'trust me, I know what I'm talking about' professional face and when he looks up, he forgets everything.

Standing next to Pete is Brendon, now with a clean-shaven face and jacket over Spencer's own t-shirt. A hundred recollections of Brendon's body, his mouth, his voice, his smell and taste all cycle through Spencer's brain at light speed, and he can't keep himself from smiling. "Hi! What are you…?" he starts to ask when Pete cuts him off.

"You are a complete nutsack. Avoiding me, asshole?" Pete says, his voice always too loud and he half hugs, half noogies Spencer where he sits. "Nevermind. You can pay me back later. You know Brendon, obviously. We've just been talking to Gary and John and label suits, and I think our Brendon here is ready for drink now. Right? So, you should come with and tell him all the reasons he should sign with us."

"I don't … but wait," Spencer is trying to reconcile this very not sense-making situation. "You sell merch." He points a finger and possibly speaks with more disdain than he really means to and Brendon's eyebrows go up.

"Yeah. My merch. I mean," he tilts his head looking at Pete and then half smiles. "I don't know why people buy it, but it pays for the food I guess. Heh."

"No, that's not. I don't…" Spencer looks at Brendon, at Pete and then back again. "I thought you were a _tech_. On the tour. You _play_?"

"Dude, what's your condition?" Pete laughs at him. "We talked about this. I introduced you."

"Yeah and you said he was selling merch…" He turns to Brendon, "you never said…" Brendon's shoulders come up to his ears and he looks down, frowning.

Spencer tries to replay every conversation and text he's had with Brendon. Admittedly, there have been few, but he can't figure out where it went wrong. He has a sickening feeling setting in from the realization that he's been operating under very false pretenses and he feels himself getting angry. He suspects the feeling is betrayal.

"If you'll excuse me. I just have to… I have to." And without looking at anyone, and with every scrap of cool he can muster, he grabs his phone and his keys and walks out of the building.

He's in the middle of having a mild anxiety attack by the break room door when Pete comes out and hops onto the block wall that Spencer is leaning on.

"So, did we have some kind of epic Trading Places-Freaky Friday-Faceoff kind of moment in there?"

Spencer takes his hands from his face where he's rubbing his temples and looks at Pete. "I don't think any of those movies work as metaphor here."

"Okay, my bad, whatever. But I know this is totally my fault, bro. I'm not good at explaining things sometimes. See? This why I have you!" He beams at Spencer, giving him a jab to the arm.

"I honestly thought Brendon was with the crew. I didn't know he was the talent you were telling me about."

Pete makes a noise that literally qualifies as a gigglesnort. "Did you even talk to him at all before you balled him?"

"Bite me. It wasn't like that. We just, well no, we haven't actually talked that much, I guess." Spencer feels like an utter shit.

"Ha! If people knew what a player you were!"

"Shut up, okay? And don't joke like that. Don't you get how serious this is? What if …" Spencer stomach begins to turn as he thinks this through. "What if it looks like I took advantage of him as a _favor_ for a contract? Have you considered what it looks like?"

Pete scrunches his face at him. "No I haven't considered that. Because it's _stupid_."

Spencer huffs. "Or what if? … Ah, fuck," Spencer sinks a little, feeling like he's gonna throw up. "What if he used _me_? That whole time. To get himself a deal?"

"Whoa, whoa, crazy talk. If anyone is less likely _than you_ to use somebody, it's him, okay? For real."

Spencer grinds his palms over his eye sockets and groans. He really likes Brendon. A lot. He's thought about him non-stop for nearly two weeks. Okay, it's mostly been about having sex with him in every way he knows it's possible to have, but Brendon makes him laugh, too. And he honestly does want to know him better. As a person. A friend-type person he can have lots of sex with.

But now it's all ruined.

"Man. How did you not figure it out, though? It seriously never came up?"

Spencer sighs and hangs his hands at his sides and stares vacantly ahead of him. "We maybe haven't actually talked very much," Spencer admits to the sound of Pete's too loud laughter. It's kind of humiliating.

"How do you have the guy in your _house_ and not even have a conversation?" Pete asks, shoulder butting Spencer with his own.

"I – what? Did he say - how do you know he was at my house?" Spencer sputters.

"No. Fuck, no, he hasn't said a word. Gentleman's gentleman, that guy. But dude," Pete chuckles, "he's wearing your _shirt_!"

"Oh, god." Spencer folds a little on himself, face in hand. "I can not believe you remember it."

"I keep all sorts of weird shit up here, man." Pete taps the side of his temple. "I'm not in charge of what sticks."

Spencer woefully joins in Pete's chuckling but he still feels pissed and hurt and sick over the whole thing.

"Stop with the misery, all right?" Pete hops off the wall. "There was no _Disclosure_ incident, okay?"

"Of course you would nail _that_ film metaphor."

~

They have a decidedly uncomfortable drive to Pete's house. They get stuck on the 405, and it's good that Pete's good at telling stories about living in vans and trailer breakdowns – or more specifically, the fights that were spawned because of it.

Pete's security drives and Pete calls shotgun like an asshole, leaving Spencer and Brendon sitting in the back of the Excursion together. Spencer intends to not look at him but his eyes aren't down with the plan, and he catches Brendon giving him a careful look. The thought that Brendon might have been using him all along makes him frown and Brendon looks away quickly. How Pete babbles happily through the tension in the backseat Spencer has no idea. He endeavors to keep the mood light, never realizing that it isn't, until he checks his phone when it vibrates and answers it.

"Babe! Yeah. Okay. Yeah. …Um, so I kinda found a couple of really cute orphans and I'm bringing 'em home, okay?"

He smiles back at them before turning away to talk with Ashlee, and Brendon, still chuckling at Pete, smiles at Spencer before catching himself and looking out the window.

"Sweet!" Pete says as he pockets his phone. "Okay, Babymama and lil' dude are en route to the casa with dinner."

"We're going?" Brendon begins. "I thought we were going _out_ somewhere. We're going to your _house_?"

"Yeah. I still got beer, though, I promise."

Brendon chuckles, a little high, and takes a deep breath. Spencer watches out of the corner of his eye and feels a little sorry for him. He was only seventeen when he went Pete's house for the first time, but he had his best friends with him while Brendon's got the guy he just let fuck him last night giving him dirty looks. Spencer turns his head to crack his neck as he thinks and tries to figure out how he's supposed to be acting.

Brendon tries not to look too obviously impressed when the security gates part or at the car parked in the driveway that costs more than the house Spencer grew up in.

They don't make it more than five feet into the foyer when Ashlee shrieks from somewhere deep in the house.

" _Wentz!_ God damn it!"

"Ooh." Pete makes a low sound and then sucks air between his teeth.

"That doesn't sound good," Spencer mutters.

" _Your_ dog, Wentz!"

"Ah, shit," Pete mutters and just then Hemmingway comes rolling into the room, looking as sad as ever. "Dude, what did you do to me?" Pete says, kneeling on the floor, lifting the dog's front half and hugging him.

"Look at this!" Ashlee comes around the corner in a violent flurry of red hair and waving bits of colored straps and block of wood. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"Hi, beautiful," Pete says casually.

"Don't you 'beautiful' me!"

"'kay. Hey, where's the baby?"

"He fell asleep on the way home. He's in his room," she replies, momentarily dropping her anger to answer. " _Pete_ " she wails again, shaking the remains of Hemmy's snack, looking like she's gonna cry. "My _shoes_."

"We're really sorry," Pete says, holding the fat dog onto his hind legs so his front paws hang in front of him, begging forgiveness. "I'm sorry, hon. We'll make it up to you, I promise."

Ashlee squints at them both, whirls around, and storms out of the room. "He also puked in the closet and you get to clean it up," she shouts over her shoulder.

"Don't we have somebody to do that?"

"No! _You_ clean it!"

Pete mushes his forehead to Hemmy's, "I thought you had my back, man. You let me down." Hemmy whines his apology. "Guys, make yourselves at home. Me and Hem are in big ass trouble and have a mess to clean up. Do whatever. I'll be back."

Pete's face looks at least as sad as the dog's. Spencer bites the inside of his lip to keep a straight face. "Yeah," he agrees, with some put upon sympathy. "Good luck with that, guys," he says, including Hemmingway, as they walk down the hall.

He hears a piano in the adjoining room and finds Brendon sitting at the bench, his back straight, though his shoulders are curved slightly forward. He's just going through a few chords pianissimo with his right hand like he doesn't want to make any actual noise.

Spencer takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling for a minute. Possibly brooding in silence isn't the best way to handle this situation. He just can't decide if he should act like a cold professional and only help to get him signed or if he's entitled to act like a jilted lover.

Brendon looks up, smiling faintly, but his eyes are anxious and unsure. What Brendon really looks like he needs is a friend.

"So. Hey," he says quietly, moving to lean against the piano.

"Hey."

Spencer watches Brendon play for a minute. It's kind of everywhere, with snatches of Radiohead leading into something that might be from _Pirates of Penzance_. Even though he's not playing anything through, he's got this classical posture and moves his fingers with confidence over the keys. He doesn't even look like he's trying. Spencer has to reconstruct this box that he's categorized Brendon in; a roadie, crew. Of course, it's his own fault, he shouldn't have assumed anything.

"That night we met…" he starts.

"I get it. It never came up, I guess," Brendon shrugs, talking fast. "I was too busy asking you questions about Panic. My fault."

"And then Pete said that you should, that I'm … fuck." Spencer shifts his weight from one hip to the other and pushes his hair around. He doesn't even want to put words to this. Brendon stops playing but doesn't quite look at him, waiting. "I'm afraid that maybe we, me and Pete, made it seem like you had to, like, be with me. For this deal. A contract."

"I wouldn't do that! You think I would do that?" Brendon snaps, his jaw set, and Spencer refuses to acknowledge how cute he is when he's angry.

"I don't … I don't know?" Spencer answers honestly.

"I wouldn't. I'm not like that."

"Neither am I."

It's a silent standoff for a moment. Brendon wriggles a little before straightening again. He hovers his fingers over the keys before dropping them into a discordant mash of notes that resolves itself into a peaceful melody.

"I'm not a jerk, Spencer Smith. I make music. I sing. I won the spot to open for that tour in a radio contest. And then I met this really cool guy along the way."

Spencer's not entirely sure if humor is appropriate yet but he can't stop his snark. "… I was the cool guy, right?"

Brendon smirks and keeps playing, but he puckers his lips and makes a face until the smile goes away. It just makes Spencer want to kiss him. "Then I wake up this morning, after," his eyes scan towards Spencer and his cheeks flush, "and I really thought maybe… And then! I get offered an actual fucking record deal and for like, an hour, I thought shit had really worked out for me."

Spencer tries to think a way past this awkwardness and absently uses the thumb and pinky of both hands to rattle out a pattered rhythm on the top of the piano.

"You still play?" Brendon asks.

Spencer stills his hands. "Yeah. Not like, in front of people, but I still play."

Brendon smirks again.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I got defensive because, well, I don't like being wrong for one. And because I …really do like you."

Brendon stops playing and looks at him. There's vulnerability there but defiance, too, that he doesn't think is a front. "I really was going to call you."

"Yeah?" Spencer moves closer and Brendon slides over on the piano bench and lets Spencer take a seat next to him, his back to the keys.

"And earlier when Pete said we were gonna meet up with you. I was … I was looking forward to it. –I didn't mention anything about us or last night."

"Didn't matter. He knows."

"He does?"

Spencer reaches over and prods at the t-shirt, fingertips brushing Brendon's ribs through the fabric. "He recognized it."

"Oh. Oh, shit." Brendon winces. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Won't keep him from being a jackass, but it's fine."

Brendon looks down and Spencer realizes his fingers are still pawing Brendon's abdomen, and it's not fair because Brendon looks up at him with, well, with _his face_ and Spencer leans over and kisses him. He pulls away when Brendon sounds a muffled noise of surprise.

"Sorry. Sorry. I had no right after being a dick today. I-" Spencer gets interrupted by Brendon this time, who cups his face with both hands and pulls him for another kiss. This time, Brendon is insistent and parts his lips, licking slightly into Spencer's mouth. His heart gets racing immediately and when they hear a murmur of voices in another room, Brendon pulls away, glancing around them.

He starts playing something again, playing casual but the grin on his face is anything but.

"So," Spencer coughs, feeling smug and relieved. "I guess you just met Ashlee Simpson."

"There weren't like, introductions. I don't think she even saw me."

"She's actually really great. And funny, too …when the dogs haven't destroyed her shit. This isn't the first time it's happened. She just keeps wearing nice shoes."

"Spencer Smith, are you saying it's _my fault_ for wearing nice shoes?" Ashlee accuses from the doorway.

Brendon ducks his head purses his lips like he's trying to hide his smile.

"No way! Hem's got great taste, is all," he says, grinning at Ashlee. She's in jeans and Pete's _Where the Wild Things Are_ Clandestine t-shirt and her hair is in a pony tail. Spencer's pretty fond of how normal she is.

"Mmm, good cover, son.." She narrows her eyes on Spencer, so like a mom already, but she slips her arm around his shoulder and gives him a Hollywood peck on the cheek. "Hi, I'm Ashlee," she says, extending her hand to Brendon. "I'm guessing that since you're at the piano and you're a total cutie that you must be Brendon."

Brendon shakes her hand and laughs. He always laughs, Spencer realizes, which is good because Ashlee likes to mess with people about as much as Pete does.

"I totally expect to hear you play that before the night is over, but I'll feed you first, deal?"

Brendon blinks and nods. "Um. Deal!"

"Yay! Okay, let's get go scoop dinner out of aluminum tins and eat out on the patio like civilized people, want to?"

"Totally."

"I love when you cook," Spencer says as they follow her into the kitchen. Pete joins them with a half-sleeping Bronx, who is sucking his thumb, his face pillowed on Pete's shoulder.

"Aww, hi," Spencer says, bending to be on eye level with the baby. "Hey, Bronx, good to see ya again."

Bronx contemplates Spencer for a moment and then smiles around his thumb.

~  
After dinner and darkness surrounds them, Pete returns with more drinks and a guitar.

"Sweet!" Brendon takes the acoustic and automatically strums, adjusting the tuning keys and running through arpeggios.

"What's the song of the moment, man? Let's hear it."

"Uh, I don't know." Brendon glances at Spencer. "Fuck. When I'm put on the spot, I usually just go for Sublime."

"Whatever you got, man, go."

Brendon lets out another nervous chuckle, clears his throat and dives right into _Boss DJ_. Spencer loves it when someone covers a song so well that he forgets the original. He can't help filling in with some hand-clap rhythm. When he's done with that, Brendon sings some Bob Marley, and Pete asks for "the lantern one" and while it's unexpectedly folksy, the lyrics kind of break his heart and he want to know more.

They all clap and whistle after each song and for the first time, he's staring at Brendon with stars in his eyes and he _doesn't_ just want to tear his clothes off. He feels that stupid, giddy excitement that reminds him what it's like to be a fan.

It's later into the evening, once the empties have started a nest on the patio table and he and Brendon get careless about letting their hands lingers when they overlap, when Pete gets down to business.

"So, are you like, Out? Or no? We can play that however you want, I just thought I'd- "

"God, Pete – shut _up_ ," Spencer hisses. "Brendon, don't answer that." It's a moot warning, however, as Brendon covers by laughing too hard and not looking anyone in the face.

"What?" Pete goggles. "I was just-"

"You can not ask things like that!" Spencer throws a corn chip at Pete, who looks sincerely bewildered.

"Why? We're all friends here."

Spencer scrubs his hand over his face and sits up, taking a breath. "You're our _boss_ , shithead. You can't ask things like that – it's illegal. And it's fucking inappropriate."

"Come on, I asked you the same thing when you were with the band."

"And it was fucking inappropriate then, too. Jesus."

Pete looks torn between honestly sheepish and just laughing with Brendon, who has started to calm from his fit of nervous giggles.

"Um, I don't. It's not…" Brendon's shoulders raise and he squirms for a second, but he's still smiling. "Mostly it's that I don't want anything to represent me but my music, you know? The rest of it…" his eyes scan towards Spencer for a brief second. "Nothing is as important to me as music."

"Okay, okay, that's fair. So, here's what I'd like to see you do, if you'll hear me out?" Pete asks. Spencer likes this part, when Pete starts spinning ideas that put stars in peoples' eyes but tries to be careful enough not to pressure anyone.

Brendon gulps his beer and fidgets in his seat. "Yeah, man. Shoot."

"Okay, so, I'd like to get you into the studio to make an EP. Then get you on the road this winter. We can do a few gigs at AK Chicago and New York. The label is making a deal with New Line for a feature they want some tunes for."

"Okay. Wow. Um."

"You have a good set put together already. I just think you need a band."

"Yeah." Brendon jumps when his phone rings and laughs at himself, almost dropping it taking it out of his back pocket. Spencer doesn't think he'll ever tire of watching his awkwardness unfold. "I'm gonna take this, okay? Shane'll freak out if I don't. It's not co-dependence or anything. Heh."

"What'd I say, huh?" Pete says after Brendon leaves. "Dude's sick."

"Yeah. He's…" Spencer thinks for a minute to make sure his attraction wasn't conflicting his opinion, but no. "He's really good. He is."

"The kids are gonna love him. Girls -shit, girls _and boys_ , am I right? Even I wanna do him. That mouth, huh?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Ugh, shut _up_. You get no gay cred for wanting a blowjob. Tell me how you want to suck his dick and we can talk."

"I bet it's awesome though. I'm not asking! I'm not. But damn."

"Will you just? God."

Pete chuckles and reads something on his phone. "The other thing is, though," Pete starts talking again, his eyes still down on his phone like he's not really paying attention, "he needs a band …needs a drummer."

Spencer feels a nervous tingle in his palms that runs up the inside of his arms. "I figured that's what you were doing here."

Ashlee's standing in the shadows behind them, rocking Bronx to sleep, but she moves closer now and Spencer feels just a little bit like he's being ambushed.

"You should be in a band, Spence, not in an office. Not this shit you do for me."

"We've talked about this-"

"Yeah. Yeah and I get it. I can't imagine playing without my guys either, but come on. Ryan didn't stop for playing for you, did he?" That hurts a little bit, but he knows Pete doesn't mean it like that. "But this guy. Tell me someone else, except for Patrick, who can play like he can. Sing like he can. And who's just, he's just a sweet little dude, am I right?"

Spencer nods. He can't deny that parts of his brain are sparking at the idea of being in a band again, playing music with someone who feels it the way he does.

"He's … Brendon is. He is."

"I'm gonna go put him down," Ashlee says, extending the baby so Pete can kiss his head. Then she leans down to Spencer, gives a quick cheek-to-cheek kiss and says quietly, "Listen to him, hon. You know this is what he's good at."

"Good night," he replies, rubbing Bronx's sleeping head and nodding his understanding as she goes.

Brendon passes her on his way out as she goes inside, and Spencer watches them, him, as they talk. It's almost hard to believe there's so much talent in one person, that those hands are so deft at making music and the way he sings is captivating.

"Sorry. That was Shane," he says, as he sits back down to the table. "He bought surf boards today! Do you surf?" he asks Pete.

"I'm from Illinois, dude. Gimme a sled or a snowboard but none of that 'hang ten' shit."

Brendon nods and looks at Spencer carefully. "You? Wanna come out with us in the morning?"

Spencer does. He has no idea how to surf but he'll try. Brendon smiles at him and he suddenly hears his mother's shrill _"and if all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?"_ His whole life he had said no. Fuck that. He did what he wanted and what he believed was right and to hell with anyone who had a problem with that.

But this face? He pretty much figures he'll follow it anywhere.

"Santa Monica beach, right?" he says. "You'll have to show me."

"Awesome! You can get to know Shane and Ian. And… and we can talk."

The space between them seems to narrow and while he wouldn't quite use the words 'in love', Spencer definitely feels himself falling.

It's possible he hears Pete giggling, but Spencer doesn't care.

~

Epilogue

~

Spencer sits on the couch in the dressing room with his hands resting palms up in his lap. They're still sore and throbbing and he's coming down from his adrenaline-Red Bull-beer buzz.

He'd showered directly after walking off stage, and his damp hair occasionally drips down the back of his neck.

"Okay, dude, I'm out," Ian says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and extending a fist in Spencer's direction. "Good show, brotha!"

Spencer holds his arm up but his fist is decidedly, well, limp.

"Ooh." Ian winces. "Sorry man. Take care of that shit, we can't do it without you."

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. Catch up with you in a few."

Ian nods and heads off. They all get along great, but he usually goes way to the back of the venue somewhere with a few thousand empty seats around him to feel some solitude before they're all crammed onto the bus together again.

Their bassist for this tour is a good guy, too, but he's living it up for all it's worth and doesn't waste any time in the dressing room.

Spencer lays his head back against the wall and listens to Brendon in the shower. He's been saving his voice because, while Spencer's hands are a mess, Brendon is beginning to strain as well, but that doesn't keep him from scat singing a few melodies to hear the echo off the tile walls.

He comes out of the shower wearing just his boxer briefs, rubbing a towel over his head. "So, I think the transition into _New Perspective_ worked better tonight, but I don't know, _Oh, Glory_ got weird, didn't it?"

Spencer listens but his hands hurt and that reminds him of how much his life has change over the last year. How he went from two practices by himself to playing with Brendon, writing, recording, rehearsing, and then suddenly touring within a few months. He's been on board with all of it but the pace is taking a toll on his body.

Brendon is still talking but he grabs the ice bucket they swiped from a hotel that Zack has already filled and Spencer's backpack, swings a chair in front of Spencer, and sits down.

"And then I thought, well, if we extended the outro, I could fill with something. I have a bit about surfing and not getting any tan lines but then you still get sand in places, you know the kids would eat that shit up, but it would give me enough time to get my guitar …"

Spencer's only half listening now because he's boggling at Brendon's nonchalance about nursing him. He digs out Spencer's first aid supplies and starts by putting the latex glove on Spencer's swollen right hand before plunging it into the bucket of ice. He doesn't want his calluses to soften but needs to reduce the swelling. Then Brendon picks the medical tape off the worst of the torn open blisters and dabs Neosporin onto the wounds.

"Thanks," Spencer says while Brendon is still holding his hand and looking close at the damage. It really is kind cool how there are blood blisters _underneath_ the calluses on his left hand and how the edges begin to bubble up and tear. Spencer's Frankenhands have been winning the nastiest injury award every night this week. "I was gonna do it…"

Brendon smiles a little but doesn’t quite look at him. "Whatever. I don't mind." He sets the ice bucket on the floor, pulls off the latex glove, and starts rubbing the arnica ointment into his hand.

While they've been sleeping together since that first dinner at Pete's house, they get so disconnected during tour. Aside from a few momentary kisses, the normalcy of not touching has taken over.

"No, really," Spencer says, sitting up and leaning forward. "Thanks." Brendon half-heartedly rolls his eyes, but he leans closer, too, leading with his cheek so that's what Spencer nuzzles first, turning his face to kiss his jaw and then his cheekbone until Brendon turns enough to so that he can kiss his mouth. "I don't just mean thanks for my hands," he says against Brendon's lips. Brendon scoots a little closer, negotiating his knees around Spencer's.

"You've got nothing to thank me for."

Spencer's just about to wrap a hand around Brendon's back and pull him into his lap but they hear the door swing forward to the sound of Zack's voice.

"Pack out is underway and so far; nothing destroyed. I was –oh, shit. Ahh…" Despite the fact that Zack is one of their favorite new people in the world, they jump apart at his entry but remain holding hands. Grinning at the floor in their awkwardness, Zack faces the doorframe and picks at the doorlock, avoiding looking at them. "Right, so I was gonna suggest you go say hi to the kids at the gate. But maybe in an hour, after some have left."

"That's good."

"Cool. Yeah. We can do that," Brendon says with a vigorous nod. He starts to pull his hand away but Spencer doesn't let go.

Zack chances a look at them and grins but wipes his face until he stops. "So, I'm gonna go and do, you know, the stuff, and that'll probably keep me busy for about forty-five minutes?"

"Okay. We'll be ready," Spencer answers, rubbing his thumb over Brendon's knuckles until Brendon looks up at him through his eyelashes.

"Yep."

Zack coughs and clears his throat in a spectacularly not subtle 'I know that you know that I know you know' kind of way. "Forty-five. You got it then." He presses the interior lock as he pulls the door shut.

"You know he's cool, right?" Spencer says. "Zack's … he's not gonna talk or be like—"

"Shut up about Zack." Brendon lunges up and straddles onto Spencer's lap, muffling, "Forty-five minutes," into Spencer's mouth.

"Oh, good," Spencer murmurs, "I was, mmm, I was starting to think…"

"You were wrong." Brendon grabs Spencer's hands and positions them onto his ass. "Miss…"

Brendon doesn't say exactly what he misses, but Spencer gets the gist. He shifts to lie down on the couch and Brendon squirms around with him so that he's lying on top of him and Spencer slides his hands into Brendon's underwear, feeling how his own rough hands graze over Brendon ass.

"Why are you never naked fast enough?" Brendon grumbles, pushing himself up and glaring expectantly at Spencer's pants like they should be disappearing. Spencer chuckles as he unzips, and Brendon smiles and licks his lips.

"Mm-" is about the only warning Spencer gets before Brendon slinks downward. He opens his mouth and exhales along Spencer's cock, just brushing his lips over the soft skin before mouthing at the head.

"Jesus, Brendon." Spencer cups the side of Brendon's head, scruffing through his wet hair to wrap his fingers around the back of his skull. Spencer tries to block out the awareness of people walking just past the dressing room door and think about what it will be like when they go home, to _their_ new home.

He looks down and pushes up just a little bit, and Brendon moans and then sucks hard as he slowly pulls off.

"I'm too young to die," Spencer gasps. Brendon huffs a low laugh as he sits up and shoves his boxers down. His cock is flushed and hard and he grunts when Spencer takes him in hand. He shifts down to lie on top of Spencer, rutting against him in short thrusts.

"Yeah." Spencer scrambles to touch everywhere he can.

"So easy for you," Brendon pants, his lips still wet and swollen from going down on him.

"Shh…" Spencer curves one hand on the back of Brendon's thigh at the swell of his ass and holds him firm as he arches up. Brendon adjusts his weight with one hand on the arm of the couch above Spencer's head and continues to hump against him. They hear a laugh in the hallway outside and they both kind of groan into the kiss, desperate to get off together while they have the chance.

"Spence."

"Yeah."

" _Spence_."

"Ngh."

He feels it when Brendon begins to come, hot and sticky over his cock and stomach. Before Brendon's even finished shuddering, he shifts his weight onto his forearm and jerks Spencer off.

All his senses narrow into a fine point of pleasure when he comes, and his scope of vision slowly widens to include Brendon carefully wiping them clean with his towel. They squirm around to pull their pants and underwear back up and Spencer pulls Brendon on top of him again and just hugs him, pressing his face into his hair.

"I don't get it," Brendon says, still panting a bit.

"Hm?" Spencer hums because he's kissing Brendon while he has the chance.

"I keep waiting for you get tired of me."

Spencer pulls away and crooks his neck to look at him. "Why?"

Brendon shrugs and somehow makes himself a little heavier onto Spencer's chest.

"I'm sorry about your hands."

Spencer grumps with confusion and frowns at the ceiling. "Single train of thought, Bren."

"Well, you thought you were just getting a one time hook up with a tech you'd never see again and instead I kinda fell in love with your face and tricked you into being my boyfriend _and_ my drummer. … and now your hands are all blistered."

Spencer thinks for a minute to right-side up Brendon's backwards logic and laughs.

"Okay, number one, it's not your fault I'm out of shape. Number two, I went to the van with you because I liked you and because you're hot. And number three; don't quote your sappy love song at me." He pokes Brendon in the side.

"Hey," Brendon says, squirming and pushing up to face him. "I wrote that sappy love song for _your_ face."

Zack passes the door outside with a sing-song "Fiiive minutes". They laugh at the same time, and Spencer smoothes his fingers along Brendon's cheek, staring at him for a moment.

" _Your_ face."

~


End file.
